


touch of your lips on mine

by trustingno1



Series: to read fiction means to play a game [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingno1/pseuds/trustingno1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock pulls back a little, panting, soft and warm against the inside of John's thigh. "Not good?" he asks, warily, and John lifts his head from the pillow for a moment.</p><p>"<i>Very</i> good," he says, firmly, before dropping his head back onto the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	touch of your lips on mine

**Author's Note:**

> [This amazing tumblr post](http://couldntpossiblycomment.tumblr.com/post/108563682745/do-you-even-understand-how-much-i-love-quotes-from) about quotes from Sherlock being re-used in canon Johnlock + a terrible case of writer's block basically led to (what will hopefully be!) a series of short fics based on out-of-context quotes from the show.
> 
> First up: two of the easiest quotes, both from A Study in Pink - _"Not good?"_ and _"Very good."_
> 
> Essentially .. a bit of ball-sucking. And not much else.

It's quiet, just John's heavy breathing and the wet noises of Sherlock's mouth, until he touches his lips to John's bollocks, and John swears, breathlessly, " _Christ,_ Sherlock."

Sherlock pulls back a little, panting, soft and warm against the inside of John's thigh. "Not good?" he asks, warily, and John lifts his head from the pillow for a moment.

" _Very_ good," he says, firmly, before dropping his head back onto the bed.

"Oh," Sherlock says, quietly, then - " _Oh_ ," and he can tell that John's grinning at the ceiling. 

He lowers his mouth again, more deliberately, and John's feet move restlessly on the mattress, knees drawing up and straightening as Sherlock gently alternates between sucking and lapping.

He shifts closer, wrapping his lips around John's bollocks again, _fascinated_ by John's reaction, making an interested little hum, and John's thighs tighten around him. 

Sherlock pushes up on his knees, still mouthing at John, and he shoves his hand down between his legs, palming himself through his pyjama pants. He groans, rubbing the heel of his hand down the length of his cock until he's squirming, rutting back against his hand, pushing himself further into John.

"Oh, that's lovely," John breathes, lifting his head a little to watch Sherlock again, and Sherlock presses his forehead to the inside of John's thigh for a moment.

He places a series of sucking, open-mouthed kisses to the root of John's cock, nose buried in his pubic hair. John groans, reaching down to fist the tip of his spit-damp cock frantically, hips pushing up into his grip - 

and Sherlock bats his hand away, irritably.

After a moment, John huffs out a surprised laugh, so high-pitched and disbelieving that Sherlock, semi-reluctantly, pulls off to laugh, too.

"Did you just -"

"It would appear so," Sherlock murmurs, pushing down his pyjama bottoms and kicking them off the end of the bed. He ducks down again, and although John's doesn't say anything else, he reaches down to run his hand through Sherlock's hair, affectionately, leaving his hand there when Sherlock makes his way up the length of his cock.

He sucks lightly at the head of John's cock, tries tonguing at the slit (both taste and John's reaction noticeably stronger), and swallows down as much as he can, wrapping his hand around the base.

He experiments with the pace (when he bobs his head quickly, John's fingers tighten in his hair, but when he pulls back slowly, so _slowly_ , until his lips are just barely brushing the tip of John's cock, before sliding his mouth down again, John's stomach muscles bunch and his breath catches and he's not entirely certain which he prefers).

He pulls off, shifting up onto his elbows, kissing his way up John's stomach, his chest, and John's hand's still in his hair. He kisses his way up the side of John's neck, and John tilts his head, allowing him better access, and Sherlock kisses along the line of his jaw.

"Hi," John says, when he reaches John's chin, and he's smiling so hard that the creases at the corners of his eyes deepen, and Sherlock rolls his eyes in reply, but kisses him on the mouth, softly.

He braces himself on one forearm, reaching over to the bedside table with his free hand, groping around in the top drawer for the lube, and John strokes his side, languidly, before turning his hand palm-up for the lube. Sherlock squeezes some into his hand and tosses the bottle aside, not bothering to check where it lands, and John doesn't quite bite off his laugh as he slicks them both up. 

Sherlock braces his other arm on the bed, forearms either side of John's head, and John takes them both in hand, grip warm and slippery.

He wanks them quickly, and Sherlock drops his head, breathing hard in John's ear (and there's so _much_ to focus on; the feel of John against him, hot and hard, the breathy little grunts John's making, the way his forehead's creasing up like he's close -)

John jerks beneath him, tugging at the tips of their cocks as he comes, one heel bouncing on the bed, and he slows his hand as he wrings out the last of it. He lets his cock slip from his grip, and before he's caught his breath, he wraps his hand around Sherlock (the addition of John's ejaculate on his hand changing the texture of the slick in a minute way he files away to examine later).

He strokes Sherlock firmly, rolling his palm over the top of his cock occasionally, and although John's not the most observant of men, he noticed, quite admirably, _remarkably_ early on, that being able to discern patterns distracts Sherlock to the point that -

(" - it's not conducive to climax."

"Yeah, cheers, got it," John groaned, "I just _said_ that."

"No, you said that I prefer a bit of _variety_ when being," Sherlock swallowed, then gestured, a little vaguely, "manually stimulated."

"I didn't say that. I did _not_ say 'manually stimulated'," John laughed, tugging him in for another kiss, and when he thumbed Sherlock's nipple, unexpectedly, Sherlock jerked back in surprise, blinking at John for a moment, before swooping back in and kissing him _hard_ ).

Sherlock's jaw drops open as he gets closer, eyes closing as it builds at the base of his spine. John presses their cheeks together and Sherlock grabs at the bedsheet as he comes with a low groan. John strokes him through it, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, until Sherlock collapses to the side, still half-sprawled on John, one leg thrown over John's.

John's still breathing hard when Sherlock lifts his head to land a lazy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Just 'good'?" he murmurs, and he can't help his lips curling slightly at John's laugh.

"Shut up, Sherlock," he replies, even as he turns his head for a proper kiss.


End file.
